


Just Pretend

by thepopeisdope



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coda, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Spoilers for Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 18:45:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11132598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepopeisdope/pseuds/thepopeisdope
Summary: After Sam’s footsteps crunch over the gravel and disappear into the house, the only sound remaining is Dean’s ragged breathing, and the thundering of his own heartbeat in his ears.





	Just Pretend

**Author's Note:**

> Juggling four different fics with all sorts of deadlines, and what do I do instead of actually finishing/updating any of them? Rewatch season 12 and write a coda! Because that's obviously a great use of my time. Yikes. Suffer with me, friends. 
> 
> Spoilers for All Along the Watchtower, obviously. Title from the Elvis song of the same name, because I've been on a bit of a bender. 
> 
> (Rebloggable version, if you're into that kind of thing: [here](http://thursdays-fallen-angel.tumblr.com/post/161567604155/just-pretend) )

After Sam’s footsteps crunch over the gravel and disappear into the house, the only sound remaining is Dean’s ragged breathing, and the thundering of his own heartbeat in his ears.

He can’t think. Can’t move. There’s a pain in his chest and another behind his eyes, so strong that the memory of Lucifer’s fists colliding with his flesh is one that’s actually favorable. He knows from experience that the physical ache in his chest is brought on by at least two fractured ribs, but even that is overshadowed by the ache in his heart.

Cas—Cas’ _body_ — _the_ body—

It lies motionless, exactly where it had fallen after Lucifer pulled his blade free. The limbs are folded at unnatural angles, the coat is twisted awkwardly around the torso, and there’s a blood-lined hole where the body’s heart should be beating. It’s too much for Dean to even try to convince himself that the body is just asleep, no matter how much he wishes that was the case.

The fact that the eyes are closed is a small mercy. Dean doesn’t think he could stomach it if they were open and vacant. Or worse, if they were charred pits in the aftermath of Cas’ grace pouring out through them.

It’s that thought that has a sob tearing from Dean’s chest, and he collapses in on himself, burying his face in his hands as the damn bursts and tears spill free. The pain digs its claws into his chest, gripping at his throat and constricting his lungs.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

This wasn’t supposed to _happen_.

He had just gotten Cas back, damnit. That mess with Ramiel had been a wake-up call, and he’d thought—he’d thought that maybe he could finally get his head out of his ass, and he and Cas could be on the same page for once, in the same _place_ for once, but then Kelly fucking Kline became the priority again and her goddamn Satan baby, and Lucifer and Crowley and _now_ —

He never even told him how he feels. That weight in his chest, the one that’s done so much growing recently, finally got a name put to it—there’s nothing to be done with it now, except let it drag him down.

When Dean touches Cas, he’s already cold. Whether that’s because the night air has already sapped away what was left of the angel’s warmth or because the star that used to occupy the body is no longer there, Dean doesn’t know. He nearly recoils then and there, but he has already lost the chance to feel him when he’s warm—he may as well torture himself further.

It’ll make for good nightmare material, too, he thinks. This, and the too-bright shine of grace as it went supernova and dissipated into the night air. That light is still burned into Dean’s retinas, and he has a feeling it’ll stay there for a long time. And considering Dean basically let this happen, let Cas charge at Lucifer, let Sam pull him away—

He deserves any and every punishment which might be thrown his way.

Dean slides his fingers across the cold surface of Cas’ forehead and into his hair, limp, but soft as silk. He caresses Cas’ cheek, drags the pad of his thumb along the bow of his lips, touches the dark curls at the nape of his neck.

He doesn’t realize he’s moved until, between one blink and the next, he finds himself cradling Cas’ body to his chest, his knees digging into the gravel and his shoulders hunched. Nothing about the position is comfortable, but physical comfort is the farthest thing from Dean’s mind, because the body in his arms is an empty, dead weight, and the stab wound is even more glaringly obvious than it had been before.

And the worst part is, none of that is enough to convince Dean to settle Cas’ body back on the ground. He can’t even loosen his grip.

It can’t happen like this.

“Please,” he croaks, to no one and everyone. He swallows down the next sob that threatens to choke him, knowing full well that if he lets it take him, he won’t be able to overcome it again. “Please, _please_. Give him _back_. I need—”

He needs another chance. He could do it right. He can fix things, make Cas stay for good, keep him safe.

If he had another chance—

A tingle runs across Dean’s shoulders, the weight of a hand without a hand. Dean squeezes his eyes shut against it, confident that he’s imagining it just as he’s imagining the undeniable familiarity of the touch. It’s warm and comforting, and sets something deep in his bones at ease.

When he fails to look up, unwilling to shatter the illusion of comfort, the touch becomes firmer, more insistent. Dean’s eyes crack open, but his vision is too blurred with tears to see more than the vague outline of Cas’ prone form in his lap.

That weight on his lap is exactly where it was. It hasn’t moved. Even with his vision impaired, Dean can see that much. But that doesn’t explain…

Dean’s breath catches on the intake of a sob, and he turns his face up so quickly that it makes him dizzy. He holds Cas tight against his chest, needing to ensure that he’s not hallucinating when he looks up to see—

Amara.

Dean blinks. His shock has granted him a temporary reprieve from his tears, but considering the sight in front of him, he realizes he would prefer to be blinded by his grief than face this new addition to his crumbling reality. Amara is looking at him with a small, knowing little smile, the same one that used to fill Dean with all-consuming rage a year ago. But it’s been a long year, and now he just wants it to end.

 _Take me_ , he wants to say to her. Because if this is how it’s going to be, if he has to live with losing Cas—he would rather not. Right now, he would gladly let his soul be consumed if it meant a final, sweeping end to his pain. There’s bound to be a baby inside that needs taking care of, but maybe this time, Sam can handle that on his own. It might be easier for him to raise a kid in secret on his own, anyway. Dean can cease to be in peace.

His mouth refuses to cooperate enough for any of his pleas to be voiced, but Amara just looks at him like she knows. Her long, delicate fingers sweep through his hair then down to cradle his cheek, and when another sob breaks past Dean’s lips, she shushes him gently.

“I see now I made a mistake,” she says. Her voice is pitched soft enough that its normal seductive tone is gone. If Dean felt less empty, he would probably be grateful. Holding his gaze, Amara continues, “When I left you, it was with the thought that the one thing you wanted most in this world was your mother. Family. But I’ve seen how that turned out. I see now that I was wrong.”

The Darkness sinks to her knees, and Dean’s eyes follow. He’s still half convinced he should ask her to end it like she once said she would, but as soon as the thought crosses his mind, she shakes her head.

“You wanted family,” she says again, “but I failed to understand what that meant. My brother has done much to help me understand. How, I know what it is you need to be happy.”

Dean’s eyes flutter shut when Amara’s lips graze his forehead. The skin tingles, but he’s not dead, and his soul feels pretty damn in-place, so he doesn’t know—

“Kiss him.” Amara smoothly cuts off his internal fretting and gestures to the body in Dean’s arms. She stands back and steps away, out of Dean’s line of sight. “You know what to do.”

The tingling on his forehead grows stronger as he looks back down at Cas. There’s a lump in his throat so thick that he can’t swallow, can hardly breathe. Not that it matters, anyway; his mouth has gone dry, and if this doesn’t work, then he isn’t sure he wants to be breathing, anyway.

When he leans down, the skin of Cas’ forehead is cool against his lips. For a brief second, the tingle of Amara’s kiss spikes to the point where it’s uncomfortable, and then it rushes down through him and channels through his lips into Cas’ skin. Heat sears through Dean, and light pools just beneath the skin of Cas’ forehead. Dean leans back, startled, but the light doesn’t disappear. It pulses like a heartbeat, then abruptly erupts into smaller tendrils of light which spiral all along Cas’ skin, covering his face and then disappearing beneath the folds of his clothes. The golden loops fade into the skin as if they’re being absorbed, and all Dean can do is watch, and try not to get his hopes up too high.

The last of the light fades away. Dean isn’t sure his heart is beating.

Then Cas’ eyes slit open, and the world comes crashing in around Dean all at once. His breath returns to him along with a fresh wave of tears, and grabs at every part of Cas he can reach.

“Cas? Cas, buddy, talk to me. _Please_.”

Cas blinks a few times before his eyes find Dean’s, and he heaves in a deep breath that fills his lungs completely. Dean sees confusion flit across his features, and one of his hands comes up to skim across his chest. When he finds it whole, his hand continues up to wrap lightly around Dean’s wrist, his brow furrowing even further.

“Dean.” And Christ, there’ve been some times in Dean’s life where that one word has had a pretty serious effect on him, but he doesn’t think his relief has ever been as profound as it is right now. “Dean. Why are you crying?”

The sound that Dean makes in response is practically hysterical, falling somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He doesn’t even bother trying to find the words to explain himself. He raises Cas up by the lapels of his coat and answers with a wet kiss. It’s alarmingly easy to do. Cas is pliant to it in his surprise, blinking at Dean and gaping like a fish, but Dean really can’t even bring himself to care. He kisses Cas again and again until, finally, the angel gets with the program and kisses him back.

Dean doesn’t know exactly how long passes before his wits come back to him, but when they do, he quickly twists to look over his shoulder. Amara is long gone, as he half expected her to be. Cas is still halfway sprawled across his lap and panting for breath, and he redraws Dean’s attention with a gentle touch to his shoulder. Dean turns back toward him, and looking at him again, alive and breathing and staring at him in a way that’s so achingly familiar, Dean’s heart constricts. It’s just as easy to pull Cas into a tight hug as it was to kiss him.

“Don’t do that again,” Dean says. It’s useless and they both know it, but the warmth has returned to Cas’ limbs and Dean can feel it all along his front, and he knows Cas knows what he means anyway.

Proving that point, Cas huffs a soft laugh. His breath tickles Dean’s neck as he replies, “I won’t.”

There’s so many things they have to discuss, Dean knows, and there’s still the matter of Kelly’s kid besides, but for the time being, he wants nothing more than to sit here and hold Cas. He wants to bask, just this once, in the second chance he’s been given.

Dean slides his fingers into Cas’ hair and raises his eyes to the dark sky above them. Amara might have gone back to whatever corner of the universe it is that she and Chuck have decided to hide out in, but if she could hear him the first time, he’s confident she’ll hear him again.

“ _Thank you_.”


End file.
